power wurst

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if trees were skies, and skies could take their place as trees
perhaps lust for power might predict such surrealities?
with skies so high yet easily skewered, drop like leaves
leaving sequoias free to walk and cook the rules they please

think about it in the little time we’ve got left here
how would you summarize the world, if there is no fear?
stripped of its casing down to its underpants
are we really even here or just vowels and consonants?

anxiously waiting as the clock strikes out again
with runners nowhere close to scoring position
how can the truth be bought with nothing but dollars
and cents, the fat ones minted by imposters

so much cheaper since we are the chosen race
and better if you forge them by the gross
knowing all the while the future comes without a date
chewed through its inheritance, life pretends it’s not too late

infinity is long after we’re no longer here
pretending to extend us credit, why if there is no fear?
seems some people are driven by life to become famous
decased their anger devours stops at nothing cries it’s blameless

gristle tasteless like its namesake bites the bill
or the person who has nothing, thinks they’re called to shill
they substitute the mean for the mode of the side they are deceiving
their calories drift on down regressing round the median

expect Costello, it’s inevitable, Elvis is a different matter
each song their celebrity as a lethal imprimatur
da capo al coda, ransomed artists’ gifts and stolen keys
ply peace with the old gray bulls’ synthetic skin disease

hidden at home we roast our sausage cased and coveted
relatives across the fence with nothing, our sickness uncorrected
replacing awe with filling, hang it up get it carved
hide it away in the back of nothing, in a cupboard starved

of ideas replaced by ego after gleaning leaves you zero
contributions stuffed and hidden like the inside of a pillow
there is more take care than emptiness beyond the void
watch eagerly gnarly teeth shredding bits to swill the blood

suffer the verse without a thought, demented nozzles leave you sore
choking down drisheen like a starving waifish whore
egads the streets were tough for the queen of lizards
gloating at their pleas as mothers bleed to hear applause

absent planning who expected her to have a thought
transparently forcing us to see the bangers we had bought
without the mash the jury’s anxious yawn could not decide
giving us a false sense of courage before it horrified

then the midwife left without a word seems she’d mistaken
this brat from the depths our wurst was a curse forsaken
from ancient times so long ago when evil bred with good
finds us lost now searching ‘fore black pudding kills us dead

nothing left it seems since someone else decided
the gathering cloud will know exactly when we’ve died
and the letter K, stuffed with offal’s curse it never could stay wed?
oh heavy consonant please, mark the murk these miscreant succuba of the dead

living in the depths pretending make believe and promising gingers sweet
with lullabies of lies over skies beneath the trees they do entreat
so cleverly they disguise dragon’s meat sliced with scythes
replacing Bismark’s double chin with dessicated helix strips to tease

miracle of the Reformation sausage brought the popes to heel
slathered with what grace could muster every Canton had their hill
the very same power that made the trees be trees, and skies be skies
belies we brutes’ former corpulence now stuffed and twisted in the casing of our lies.

 

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